Reds and Yellows
by MacaroniWithExtraCheese
Summary: "I am not Perfect..." What happened to that Krogan after we left? Set during ME2. Rated for some blood and violence.


A/N: I wrote this a long time ago on the Kink Meme, it was a kink from someone. Not very kinky though... still I had a lotta fun writing it, I never finished on Kink Meme but I decided to finish it here. So I hope you guys enjoy it to some extent and if ya do lemme know so I can feel good, and also lemme know if you didn't then I can fix all the stuff I did wrong... again. :)

Enjoy :)

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Reds and Yellows

Rapid gunfire cut through the air, mushroom explosions deafened the bystanders and black smoke suffocated the planet. Rubble and destruction surrounded him, stretching ahead like a dead road from hell. The battle was moving on, shifting away from his position, but he had no need to follow. He was flawed, defective….

He coughed.

Fractured…

The blood spurted from his mouth.

Broken…

He sighed and leaned back against the stained wall.

Imperfect.

The one word that was branded to his soul the day he woke in tank mother, that dwarfed all teachings and shattered the pillars of his memories to leave this one monster of old standing and bare for all to see.

He shifted his painfully; his fingers gripped his shotgun tightly to his chest as his gaze surveyed the ongoing battle from afar. His helmet screen fuzzed and cracked the readings irregular. He had served his purpose, of a sort. Battle, fight and destroy, it was the way of the Krogan or so his stained blood told him. It ran there, flowed through him and gave him strength and purpose.

Purpose

Now it was complete. He could not move with these shattered legs without excruciating pain, his regenerative powers hindered by a poisoned bullet. Perhaps if perfection had flowed through him, then he would have fought the poison? Maybe he would have been able to walk by now and find food, water and shelter? He shook his head, questions and thoughts and answers were meant for the faultless, for the pure and wholesome. For the perfect. But still more questions drifted into his head.

The dying sun drenched the world in colors of blurred yellows and reds.

Just as the sun would die in the heavens, so too would he eventually drift away and let the reds and yellows take him from this world and life. This was to be his destiny from the day he was purged from tank mother; there was no fighting against the will of father.

His eyes slid shut, the sounds of battle drifting away into the distance, Exhaustion overwhelmed him and for once he let his body win the battle.

As the sun slid behind the horizon and the sounds of war finally died away. In the darkness, an eye of orange watched him intently.

* * *

The Planet of Korlus was hot at night. The sky was hidden by black smoke and suffocating fumes from the garbage burners littering the planet's surface, creating an oven on the surface of the planet. But the Krogan slept soundly, for nine days he had lived on this planet and though tonight he would not eat, he was comfortable where he lay.

The one eyed form padded its way across the strewn debris.

The Krogan stirred from his sleep.

A soft scuffle as the intruder searched among the fallen.

His eyes opened.

An orange eye glinted in the dark. Heat signatures recognized the intruder as bestial, thin and weak. Implants showed him images of bloody wars and alliances waged over years from planet to planet and century through century.

They called them Varren.

The beast sniffed the ground tenderly, its eye surveying what his nose could not decipher. A fresh carcass called its attention. The emaciated creature picked its way over and after a timid investigation, tenderly bit at the human flesh. He silently watched the animal, barely surviving on this disgusting planet.

It too was broken, its one eye lost from birth or war could not be seen for certain, but it left him vulnerable to others. It had obviously been chased from his pack as the scars told him that mapped the starving body.

Imperfect, he thought.

Something new stirred in the dark. Two new pairs of orange eyes appeared in the shadows, spikes were raised and teeth bore on snarling faces. Their focus trained on the weaker beast. He did nothing; this was as it should be the weaker died so the stronger may live on. It was what Okeer was fighting for, to strengthen the Krogan race once more.

The beasts circled, the weaker one too enraptured in his feeding to notice the looming threat. Closer and closer they came, quietly closing in on their prey.

Orange eyes narrowed.

They leapt.

Two shots clapped in the dark, both bodies dropped to the ground splattered and twitching. The Krogan lowered his gun, his eyes trained on his fresh kills. For a long moment he could only stare at the dead bodies, he no more had a reason for his actions than he had one for being imperfect.

Movement caught his eye and he turned his weapon directly at it.

The one eyed Varren had paused by the mouth of the courtyard, its good eye trained on him. He could fire now and end the poor creatures suffering, rectify his mistake for allowing a weakling to survive, but he could not bring himself to pull the trigger. He slowly lowered his weapon; tonight he would give this one a chance.

Because everyone deserved one.

The Varren watched him for a moment longer before turning around and trotting away from the courtyard and the krogan, clutching his gun, lowered his head and returned to slumber.

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And that's that, rest will be up during the week and my next Bleach story will be posted along with it. Thanks and lemme know what ya think :)


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